1850-1861.
EXILE.
Visit to Liszt--Flight to Foreign Lands--Three
Pamphlets--"Lohengrin" Performed--Wagner's Musical Ideas Expressed
in Words--Resumption of the Nibelungen Poem--The Idea of the
Poem--Its Religious Element--The First Music-Drama--In Zurich--New
Art Ideas--Increasing Fame--"Tristan and Isolde"--Analysis of this
Work--In Paris Again--The Amnesty--Tannhaeuser at the "Grand
Opera"--"Lohengrin" in Vienna--Resurrection of the "Mastersingers
of Nuremberg"--Final Return to Germany.
_Seeking with all the soul the Grecian land._--Goethe.
The first impression following his sudden change of fate appeared in
Wagner's own world as a good omen. "What I felt as I conceived this
music, he felt when he conducted it; what I intended to say as I wrote
it, he said as he interpreted it," he says of the Tannhaeuser
rehearsal under Liszt's direction in Weimar, where he had gone for a
few days for the sake of this "rarest of friends," who had already of
his own accord given "Rienzi" and "Tannhaeuser" in the small
Thuringian court-residence to which the Wartburg belongs.
His stay was cut short however, and disguised as a waggoner he left
the city. Unfortunately the only place which he could reach in safety
was Paris, and from this city he also speedily fled as from a dismal
spectre whose disgusting features were again recognized. And yet he
was destined to return to it, to retrieve his fortunes, with a
possible success as an opera-composer, but also to be permanently
convinced that this "modern Babylon," where others had conquered the
world with their art-substitutes, was in absolute contrast with that
which he sought and needed for his labors. But of Weimar he exclaimed:
"How wonderful! By the love of this rarest of friends, in the time
when I was homeless, I secured the long desired and true home for my
art, which I had hitherto sought in vain elsewhere. When I was doomed
to wander in foreign lands, he who had wandered so much, retired
permanently to a small town and there provided me a home."
Liszt had given up entirely his career as a performer, and acted
mainly as Hofkapellmeister at the grand-ducal court in Weimar. Wagner
made his acquaintance "in the terrible Parisian past," but did not
then understand him. Liszt, however, lovingly watched his progress
like an elder brother, and drew the misunderstood genius to his great
heart. "Everywhere and always he cared for me. Ever prompt and
decisive where aid was required, with a cordial response to all my
wishes, and devoted love for me, he was to me what I had never found
before, and with that intensity whose fullness we only comprehend when
it actually embraces us in all its vastness."
Among the inspiring mountains of Switzerland he wrote a protest
against the pretense of the momentary victors of the revolution,
that they were the protectors of art. His pamphlet, "Art and the
Revolution," disclosed the real nature of this so called art in
the unsettled political and social condition of the time, and
energetically rejected as art anything which under any guise sought
to speculate upon the public. The "Art-Work of the Future" was a more
extended paper which described the deadly influence of modern fashion
upon art itself and the egoistic dismemberment of it into distinct
branches, and revealed the art of the future as embracing all human
art-capacities.
This misunderstood assertion gave rise to the term, "music of the
future," first used by a would-be professor, L. Bischoff in Cologne,
and immediately repeated everywhere by the thoughtless multitude. In
the first pamphlet he assailed the governments which only sought their
own particular advantage. In the second, likewise misunderstood, he
irritated all the artists. His fiercest indignation was expended upon
the born arch-enemies of our art and culture in the same year, 1850,
when he published "Judaism in Music," under the name of "Freigedank."
"What the heroes of the fine arts have wrested in the course of two
thousand unhappy years of strenuous and persistent efforts, from
the demon hostile to art, the Jew to-day converts into drafts on
art-merchandise. Who would imagine that this great work has been
cemented with the sweat and toil of genius for two thousand years,"
he exclaims in the exasperation of his soul at these flippant
time-servers who dominated in the concert-hall and on the stage.
Naturally the legion of their followers did not become his friends.
They controlled the press, and it is due to this, that his most
important writings are known even to-day only by his friends.
About this time he wrote the poetry to "Wiland der Schmied." It was in
Paris he showed the Germans how dire necessity contrives the wings
with which to escape from bondage and regain sweet liberty. Under the
peculiar constraint which work, foreign to his nature, imposed upon
him and which made him sick in body and soul, his eyes one day fell
upon the score of "Lohengrin." Two words to Liszt and the reply
determined him upon its performance. It occurred, August 28, 1850. It
was in fact a fresh protest against a false art-world and in 1870,
when the German people stood arrayed in arms against our foreign enemy
everyone exclaimed in astonishment, "Lohengrin!" This selection for
the celebration of Goethe's birthday was worthy of his memory, for
Wagner, as great a poet as he was musician, had invested the work
with every charm of tragic beauty, both in the text and poetical
construction as well as in the ingenious design of its dramatic
situations. The work marks a notable era in the history of German
music.
Wagner now fully explained in his book, "Opera and Drama," published
in 1861, the object of his art-revolution. The opera hitherto, as he
said, was not even the germ, how much less the fruit of the art-work
he purposed. On the contrary, the methods hitherto applied must be
completely changed. Music must be made the essential and highest
method of expression of poetry and the drama; but not the principal
theme to which words and situations are subordinated. In this he
unfolded all his artistic experience and claimed that whoever failed
to understand him now, did so because he was determined not to
understand. This can be found more fully treated in the "Allgemeine
Musikgeschichte." To his real friends he presented in the autumn of
the same year that "Communication" which reveals to us his manhood and
is a biography of the soul without parallel.
The high purpose, perceivable from afar, whither his endeavors tended,
appears in the real work of our artist taken up again at last. The
noble and affectionate regard of the family of the rich merchant
Wesendonck, in Zurich, provided him with a pleasant place of rest and
needed support. The performance of "Lohengrin" was a summons to new
deeds. He resumed the Nibelungen poem, and we shall see its powerful
influence upon the national spirit and national art.
"Man receives his first impressions from surrounding nature, and in
it no effect is so strong as that of light." Thus he begins in the
"Wibelungen" of 1850. The day, the sun, appears as the very condition
of life. Praise and adoration are bestowed upon it in contrast with
the dark night which breeds terror. Thus light becomes the cause of
all existence, Father, God. The day-break appears as the victory of
light, and naturally there grow out of it at last moral impressions.
This influence of nature is the foundation of all conceptions of
divinity, the division into distinct religions depending upon the
character of different tribes. The tribal tradition of the Franks,
as the noblest type of the Germans, has the advantage of a steady
development from its ancient origin into historic life. It likewise
shows us in the far distant past the individual God of light as he
slays the monster of the chaotic night--Siegfried's struggle with the
dragon.
But as the day surrenders to the night and summer is followed by
winter, so Siegfried finally is conquered and the god is changed into
mortal man. Now that he has fallen, he kindles in the human heart a
deeper sympathy. As the victim of a struggle that enriches us, he
arouses the moral sense of vengeance against the murderer. The
primeval struggle in nature is therefore continued by ourselves and
its success is seen in the vicissitudes of human life through the
ages, moving on from life to death, from joy to grief, and thus in
perpetual rejuvenescence clearly discloses the character of man as
well as of nature. The embodiment of this constant motion, the active
life itself, however, ultimately finds in Wotan (Zeus) as the father
of light, its distinct form. Although Zeus reigned supreme as the
father of all the gods, yet his origin is due to the advanced
knowledge of man while the God of light, Siegfried, is natural and so
to speak born with him.
"The most important part of this tribal legend of the Franks is
the treasure which Siegfried obtains and which henceforth bears
his attributes as opposed to those of the primeval myth. The
Scandinavians, for instance, have preserved a Nifelheim as the abode
of the black demigods in contrast to the demigods of light. These
Niflungars, children of night and of death, search the interior of the
earth, discover its hidden treasures and invest them with new life by
forging them into weapons and ornaments. The Nibelungs, whom we also
find as the Myrmidons accompanying Achilles, the Siegfried of the
Greeks--are now with their treasure elevated by the Franks to a moral
importance. When Siegfried slew the Nibelungen dragon he gained its
treasure. The possession of it increases his power immeasurably
inasmuch as he now commands the Nibelungs, but it is at the same time
the cause of his death, for the heir of the dragon seeks to regain the
treasure and treacherously slays him as night does the day and draws
him into the dark realm of death. Siegfried is transformed into a
Nibelung! Although the acquisition of the treasure dooms it to death,
still each new generation inevitably strives to obtain it. The
treasure represents the embodiment of worldly power. It is the earth
with all its glory as we see it at dawn, our own sunny property after
the night has been driven away which had spread its dragon wings like
a horrid spectre over the rich treasures of the world.
"The treasure itself, which the Nibelungs have gathered, is the metal
found in the bowels of the earth which enables us to improve the
earth, and to fashion weapons and golden crowns, the means of power
and its symbols. The divine hero Siegfried, who first obtained it and
thus became a Nibelung, left to his race the claim to the treasure. To
revenge the slain hero and regain the treasure is the aim of the whole
race of the Nibelung-Franks, and by it they are recognized in history
as well as in legend."
Accordingly we find the noblest hero of the "Wibelungen," Friedrich
Barbarossa, of the Hohenstauffen race ruling in the mountain,
surrounded by Wotan's ravens. It is possible that the Franks were the
ruling tribe even in the Indo-germanic home; at all events they laid
claim to the mastery of the world as soon as they appear in history.
Of this impulse or desire Charlemagne must have been conscious when
he gathered the old tribal songs which contained the religious ideas
of the race. Upon it Napoleon based his claim to the realm of
Charlemagne. Is it not even possible that the Hohenzollerns were
influenced by the recollection of this Germanic past when they
endeavored to regain their old tribal seat in the Hohenstauffen land?
Here we close the intimate connection of the Nibelungen legend with
our history. Temporal power, however, is not the highest destiny of a
civilizing people. That our ancestors were conscious of this is shown
in the fact that the treasure, or gold, and its power, was transformed
into the Holy Grail. Worldly aims gave place to spiritual desires.
With this interpretation of the Nibelungen myth, Wagner acknowledged
the grand and eternal truth that this life is tragic throughout, and
that the will which would mould a world to accord with one's desires
can finally lead to no greater satisfaction than to break itself in a
noble death. This latter truth, which even the ancient Orient saw
clearly when in its history the Lord himself breaks the self-will of
Jacob in a dream, moves as a deep consciousness through the Germanic
myths, and induced the Germans to accept not only the higher faith
developed from such a basis to which alone they owe the preservation
of their impetuous activity, but also tended to give this Christian
truth itself a wider and deeper significance. In their myths they had
already indicated that the possession of this world is not the only
thing to be desired. They have the world-devastation, Muspilli, the
"Twilight of the Gods." It is this conquering of the world through the
victory of self which Wagner conveys as the highest interpretation of
our national myths. As Brunhilde approaches the funeral pyre to
sacrifice to the beloved dead, Siegfried, the life--the only tie which
still binds her to this earth--she says:
"If, like a breath, the gods disappear,
Without a pilot the world I leave.
To the world I will give now my holiest wisdom:
Not goods, nor gold, nor god-like pomp,
Not house, nor lands, nor lordly state,
Not wicked plottings of crafty men,
Not base deceits of cunning law,--
But, blest in joy and sorrow let only love exist."
Such was the "Ring of the Nibelungen" which Wagner created out
of the vast collection of German legends and not merely out of
the distinctively national Nibelungen epic. The completion of
"Siegfried's death," now the "Goetterdaemmerung," led to Siegfried's
"Schwertschmiedung," (Sword-wielding); "Drachenkampf,"
(Dragon-struggle) and "Brautgewinnung," (Bride-winning) and further
investigation of the subject led him in the "Walkuere" to picture
Brunhilde's guilt and punishment, and finally in the "Rheingold" a
psychological foundation for the whole. The work took this mental
shape as early as 1851. Two years later, the poem, for which he had
chosen the alliterative style of the Edda as the only suitable form,
was given to his friends, and in 1863 to the world. From that time his
sole ambition was to bring this first all-comprehensive German
national drama into life by having it performed as a distinct
festival-play far from the everyday theatre. Nearly twenty years
elapsed between this and the realization of the idea. But why take
note of time when great and grand things are to be accomplished?
The following decade brought with it many changes to Wagner, without
however at any time diverting his mind from the purpose of his life,
which constantly became clearer. Every opportunity was improved to
direct attention and approach nearer to it. The death of Spontini gave
occasion to a memorial tribute, closing with the words: "Let us bow
reverently before the grave of the creator of the 'Vestalin,'
'Cortez,' and 'Olympia.'" He sought with operas and concerts to
develop the limited musical resources of Zurich, where he had taken up
his permanent residence, because he had always met with a most cordial
personal reception there. In this he was aided by scholars who came to
him from Germany, most prominent among whom was Hans von Buelow, who
had been in Weimar with Liszt, and had become enthusiastic over
"Lohengrin." Wagner overcame his own repugnance to the operas of
Meyerbeer and his associates, which he hoped his "Lohengrin" was
destined to obliterate, and directed their performance. To do the
same for his own works, the requisite strength was lacking. "Some of
us are old, others are young. Let the older one think not of himself,
but let him love the younger for the sake of the inheritance which he
places in his heart to cherish anew, for the day will come when the
same shall be proclaimed for the welfare of humanity the world over,"
are the closing words of his "Opera and Drama." He found consolation
and compensation in performing the symphonies of Beethoven, for two of
which he prepared a special program; but as he desired to have the
real motives of his work understood by the hospitable little city, he
wrote a pamphlet, "A Theatre in Zurich," wherein he advocated the
establishment and maintenance of a theatre by the citizens themselves,
as the Greeks had done. It was another evidence of his firm conviction
that the stage had a high mission in the culture of our time. He even
lectured on the subject of dramatic music, and recited the poem of
"Siegfried's Death," which made a profound impression.
Very soon thereafter appeared the remarkable "Letter to Liszt in
Regard to the Goethe Memorial," wherein he confidently asserted that
painter as well as sculptor would decline to compete with the poet
acting in harmony with the musician, and that they would with
reverential awe bow before an art-work in comparison with which their
own productions would seem but lifeless fragments. For such an
art-work there should therefore be prepared a suitable place rather
than continue contributions to the support of the individual arts,
which the former would invigorate and elevate anew. We see to-day that
the plastic arts also strike out in new paths. Liszt and Wagner have
inspired their epoch and the sculptor Zumbusch in Vienna has given us
their busts. In a similar strain he challenged musical criticism and
thereupon began with the gradual spread of "Tannhaeuser," and soon
also of "Lohengrin," those seemingly endless disputes which, however,
at the same time increased the strength of some younger men, among
whom were Uhlig, Pohl, Cornelius, Raff and Ambros. These practical
performances, as little as they presented an artistic ensemble, yet
tended to arouse and shape talents that Wagner could avail himself of
later for his own higher purposes. Among them were Milde and his wife,
Ander, Schnorr, Formes, Niemann and Beck. Wagner's niece Johanna, was
already familiar with his method from her Dresden experience. He
endeavored in a pamphlet discussing the way to perform "Tannhaeuser"
to rescue it from banishment and familiarize the artists with its
merits but they remained deaf or hostile. He became absorbed the more
in his Nibelungen-poem, leaving to his good genius his deliverance
from external isolation. And yet the latter became a source of
pleasure when, in the manner of von Eschenbach's Parcival, who also
presented the sorrows and deeds of the mythical sun-hero, familiar to
him since 1845, he undertook to portray the forest-solitude in which
his young Siegfried grew up and gained all the miraculous power of
nature, above all, that inner confidence which banishes fear from the
human breast.
A brighter future seemed to open when, notwithstanding the doubts of
his friends of the ultimate success of his "monstrous undertaking,"
the knowledge of which began to spread, the German artists generally
accepted his invitation to spend a Wagner week in Zurich, and parts
of his masterly works were performed with such effect that "the
amiable maestro stood buried in flowers." For the overture to the
"Flying Dutchman," as well as for the prelude to "Lohengrin," he
composed an explanatory introduction.
In the autumn of the same year he was in Italy, and, lying sleepless
in a hotel at La Speccia, he found for the first time those plastic
"nature-motives" which in the Nibelungen-trilogy with constantly
increasing individuality are made the exponents of the passions and
the characters which give expression to them. He immediately returned
to his dreary, involuntary home to proceed with the completion of his
colossal work, which was to engage his attention for many years. A
visit from Liszt, in October, led to a profounder understanding of
Beethoven's last sonatas, so that their language was fully identified
with his own. "Rheingold" and the "Walkuere" were soon finished.
His fame meanwhile grew steadily. He received an invitation for the
concerts of the Philharmonic society in London, for which Beethoven
had written the Ninth Symphony and designed the Tenth, which,
according to his Sketches, was to show what all great poetic minds
longed for--the union of the tragic spirit of the Greeks with the
religious of the modern world. It was the same high goal that Wagner
touched in the "Nibelungenring" and attained in "Parcival." The
English at that time were even less disposed to appreciate his efforts
than the Germans, and the Jewish spirit of their church inclined them
to look with suspicion upon the "Jew Persecutor." He also found at
first some difficulties in the rushing style of execution, which was a
tradition from Mendelssohn, who was idolized in England. His untiring
energy, however, prevailed everywhere where art was at stake, and the
last of the eight concerts, in which Mozart's C Major Symphony and
Beethoven's Eighth were given, and the "Tannhaeuser Overture," was
encored, brought him, in a storm of applause, compensation for the
unworthy calumniations of the press, notably, of the _Times_.
Notwithstanding all this, he could not be induced to re-visit London
till twenty years later. The invitations from America he declined at
once.
His art-susceptibility at that time was very keen and active. He
remarked to a German admirer, in the autumn of 1856, that two new
subjects occupied his mind during the Nibelungen-work, which he could
with difficulty repress. The one was "Tristan," with which Gottfried's
brilliant epic had already made him familiar in composing the
"Walkuere," and the other, probably, was "Parcival," whose Good Friday
enchantment had impressed him many years before. In October Liszt
visited him again, and heard the "Walkuere" on the piano. A musical
journal in Leipzig was emboldened to speak of a forthcoming event that
would agitate the whole musical world. With what joyous cheerfulness
he composed "Siegfried," and his Anvil-song is shown in a letter about
Liszt's symphonic poems, which appeared in the following spring.
Accident and irresistible impulse, however, led immediately to the
completion of "Tristan and Isolde."
The seeming hopelessness of success in his endeavors at times
discouraged him. "When I thus laid down one score after the other,
never again to take them up, I seemed to myself like a sleep-walker
who is unconscious of his actions," he states. And yet he had to seek
the "daylight" of the German opera, from which he had fled with his
Nibelungen, if he would remain familiar with the active life of his
art. He proposed therefore to arrange the much simpler Tristan
material within the compass of ordinary stage representation.
Curiously enough he received just then an offer to compose an opera
for the excellent Italian troupe in Rio Janeiro. He thought, however,
of Strasbourg, and it was only through Edward Devrient, who visited
him in the summer of 1857, that he destined the work for Carlsruhe
where Grand Duke Frederick and his wife, Princess Louisa of Prussia,
displayed a growing interest in art. It was also the home of an
excellent singer, Ludwig Schnorr from Carolsfeld, of whom Tichatschek
had already informed him and who was to be the first to assume the
role of Tristan.
"Tristan" belongs, like "Siegfried" and "Parcival," to the circle
of the sun-heroes of the primeval myth. He also is forced to use
deception and is compelled to deliver his own bride to his friend,
then to discern his danger and voluntarily disappear. Thus Wagner
remained within his poetic sphere. But while in "Siegfried" the
Nibelungen-myth in its historic relations had to be maintained and
only the sudden destruction of the hero through the vengeance of the
woman who sacrifices herself with him, could be used in "Tristan," on
the other hand the main subject lies in the torture of love. The two
lovers become conscious of their mutual love through the drinking of
the love-potion that dooms them to death. It is a death preferred to
life without each other. What in "Siegfried" is but a moment of
decisive vehemence appears here in psychological action of endless
variety, wherein Wagner has woven the whole tragic nature of
our existence, which he had learned from the great philosopher
Schopenhauer, to esteem as a "blessing." There was however in this
similarity, and at the same time difference, a peculiar charm which
invested the work. It is supplementary to the Nibelungen-material
which in reality embraces human life in all its relations.
It is wonderful how readily he found the means to unfold before our
eyes the revelation which involved the death of the two lovers.
Commissioned by his uncle, King Marke, Tristan has conquered the
tributary Celts and slain their leader, Morold, in battle. Isolde,
the betrothed of the latter, to whose care the wounded Tristan is
consigned, is completely captivated when at last her eyes meet his,
but unconscious of this he wooes the beautiful woman for the "wearied
King" and conducts her to him. Inwardly aroused by this and the death
of her former lover, she plans to kill him and while yet on the vessel
offers him the cup of poison in retaliation for the slain Morold. Here
Brangaene appears and secretly changes the draught so that these two
who imagine they had drunk a coming death in which all love should
pass away, in this fancied final moment became conscious of life, and
confess to each other that love with which they cannot part. It is
therefore not the drink in itself but the certainty that death will
ensue, which relieves them from constraint. The act of drinking
betokens only the moment of consciousness and confession. Nevertheless
they cannot live, now that King Marke has discovered their love.
Tristan raises himself from the couch where he lies suffering from the
wound inflicted by the King's "friend" and tearing open the wound with
his own hand, embraces the approaching Isolde, who is now in death
united with him forever.
While composing the work, which the prospect of speedy representation
hastened forward rapidly, and which he hoped would secure for him a
temporary return to his fatherland, an agreeable sensation of complete
unrestraint seized him. With utter abandon he could reach the very
depths of those soul-emotions which are the very essence of music, and
fearlessly shape from them the external form as well. Now he could
apply the strictest rules. He even felt, in the midst of his work,
that he surpassed his own system. The impressive second act was
projected in Venice, where he spent the winter of 1858-59, owing to
ill-health. Thence he removed to Lucerne.
From his native land new rays of hope meanwhile penetrated his
retirement. Not only Carlsruhe but Vienna and Weimar now grew
interested. He ardently longed to strengthen himself, by hearing his
own music. "I dread to remain much longer, perhaps, the only German
who has not heard my 'Lohengrin,'" he writes to Berlioz, in 1859. He
begged permission to return, and sought the intervention of the
grand-duke of Baden, as otherwise he would have to go to Paris.
The grand-duke took all possible steps to help him, but it was of
no avail. His efforts failed, he says, because of the obstinate
opposition of the King of Saxony, but it was probably due more to the
dislike the unhappy minister, von Beust, himself an amateur composer,
entertained for the author-composer. Wagner, therefore, in the autumn
of 1859, again went to hated Paris, where he could, at least
occasionally, hear good music.
He found in Paris a few really devoted friends of his art as well
as of himself, who promised to make his stay home-like in this respect
at least. They were Villot, Champfleury, Baudelaire, the young
physician Gasperini, and Ollivier, Liszt's son-in-law. The press,
however, commenced at once its vicious and corrupt practices against
the "musical Marat." Wagner replied with actions. He invited
German singers and in three concerts performed selections from his
compositions. The beau monde of Paris attended, and the applause was
universal, especially after the Lohengrin Bridal-Chorus. The critics
however remained indifferent and even malicious. At this juncture, at
the solicitation of some members of the German legation, particularly
the young princess Metternich, Napoleon gave the order for the
performance of "Tannhaeuser," in the Grand Opera-house, much to
Wagner's surprise. It must have caused a curious mixture of joy and
anxiety in the artist's breast. Standing on the soil of France, he,
for the first time, was destined to conquer his fatherland, but on a
spot which belonged to the "Grand Opera," and where all the inartistic
qualities were fostered that he endeavored to supplant. As his native
land was closed to him, he went to work with his usual earnestness,
and, as though it were a reward for his faithfulness, there came
during the preparations the long-desired amnesty, with the exclusion,
however, of Saxony.
In the summer of 1860 he availed himself of his regained liberty to
make an excursion to the Rhine and then returned to the rehearsals.
Niemann, cast in an heroic mould, had been secured for the title-role.
For the instruction of the public he wrote the letter about the "Music
of the Future" adopting the current witty expression, which appeared
as preface to a translation of his four completed lyric works,
exclusive of the Nibelungen-Ring. With admirable clearness he
disclosed the purpose of his work. The press on the other hand made
use of every agency at its disposal to prejudice Paris from the start
against the work. To aggravate matters, Wagner would not consent to
introduce in the second act the customary ballet which always formed
the chief attraction for the Jockey-club, whose members belonged to
the highest society. He simply gave to the scene in the Venusberg
greater animation and color. It was for this reason that the press and
this club, the malicious Semitic and unintelligent Gallic elements,
the former unfortunately of German origin, united in the effort to
make the work a failure when presented in the spring of 1861. The
history of art discloses nothing more discreditable. The gentlemen of
the Jockey-club with their dog-whistles in spite of the protests of
the audience succeeded in making the performances impossible and the
press declared the work merited such a fate! Wagner withdrew it after
the third performance and thereby incurred a heavy debt which it
required years of privation to liquidate. At the same time as far as
he personally was concerned the occurrence gave rise to a feeling of
joyous exaltation. The affair caused considerable excitement and
brought him, as he says, "into very important relations with the most
estimable and amiable elements of the French mind," and he discovered
that his ideal, being purely human, found followers everywhere. The
performances themselves could not have pleased him. "May all their
insufficiencies remain covered with the dust of those three
battle-evenings," he wrote shortly after to Germany.
He realized afresh that for the present his native land alone was the
place for a worthy presentation of his music and the enthusiasm which
he witnessed at a performance of "Lohengrin" in Vienna, then the
German imperial city, convinced him that the insult which had just
been offered to the German spirit was keenly felt. Vienna as well as
Carlsruhe now requested "Tristan," but the request was not conceded.
At a musicians' union which met in Weimar in August, 1861, under
Liszt's leadership, Wagner found that the better part of the German
artists had also measurably been converted to his views. These
experiences and the hope that with a humorous theme selected from
German life he might finally obtain possession of the domestic stage
and speak heart to heart to his dearly loved people and remind them
that even their every day life ought to be transfused with the spirit
of the ideal, prompted him to resurrect his "Mastersingers of
Nuremberg." It was in foreign Paris that he wrote, in the winter of
1862, the prize song of German life and art which enchants every true
German heart. This was the last work he created in a foreign land and
in a certain sense he freed himself with it from the sad recollections
of a banishment endured for more than ten years to reappear now "sound
and serene" before his nation. That this would finally come to pass
had always been his last star of hope. "To the Pleiades and to Bootes"
Beethoven had likewise marked in his copy of the Odyssey.
We close therefore this chapter of banishment and dire misfortunes
with the prospect of a brighter future by communicating the plan of
the text of that work as he had already framed it in 1845.
"I conceived Hans Sachs to be the last appearance of the artistic
spirit of the people" he says, "and placed him in opposition to the
narrow-minded citizens from whom the Mastersingers were chosen. To
their ridiculous pedantry, I gave personal expression in the Marker
whose duty it was to pay attention to the mistakes of the singers,
especially of those who were candidates for admission to the guild."
Whenever a certain number of errors had been committed the singer had
to step down and was declared unworthy of the distinction he sought.
The eldest member of the guild now offered the hand of his young
daughter to that master who should win the prize at the public
song-festival.
The Marker, who already is a suitor, finds a rival in the person of a
young nobleman who, inspired by heroic tales and the minnesingers'
deeds, leaves his ruined ancestral castle to learn the art of the
mastersingers in Nuremberg. He announces himself for admission
prompted mainly by his sudden and growing love for the prize-maiden
who can only be gained by a "master." At the examination he sings an
inspired song which however gives constant offense to the Marker, so
much so, that before he is half through he has exhausted the limit of
errors. Sachs, who is pleased with the young nobleman, for his own
welfare frustrates the desperate attempt to elope with the maiden. In
doing this he finds at the same time an opportunity to greatly vex the
Marker. The latter, who to humiliate Sachs had upbraided him because
of a pair of shoes which were not yet ready, posts himself at night
before the window of the maiden and sings his song as a test, for it
is important to gain her vote upon which rests the final decision when
the prize is bestowed. Sachs, whose workshop lies opposite the house
for which the serenade is intended, when the Marker opens, begins to
sing loudly also because as he declares to the irate serenader, this
is necessary for him, if he would remain awake while at work so late,
and that the work is urgent none knows better than he who had so
harshly rebuked him for tardiness. At last he promises to desist, on
condition however that he be permitted to indicate the errors which,
after his own feeling, he may find in the song, by striking with the
hammer upon the last. The Marker sings, Sachs repeatedly and
vigorously strikes the last, and the Marker jumps up angrily but is
met with the question whether he is through with the song. "Far from
it," he cries. Sachs now laughingly hands him his shoes and declares
that the strokes of disapproval sufficed to complete them. With the
rest of the song, which in desperation he sings without stopping, he
lamentably fails before the female form at the window who shakes her
head violently in disapproval, and, to add to his own misfortune, he
receives a thrashing at the hands of the apprentices and journeymen
whom the noise has roused from slumber. The following day, deeply
dejected, he asks Sachs for one of his own songs. Sachs gives him one
of the young nobleman's poems, pretending not to know whence it came.
He cautions him to observe the melody to which it must be sung. The
vain Marker, however, believes himself perfectly secure in this, and
now sings the poem before the public master and peoples-court to a
melody which completely disfigures it, so that he fails again, and
this time decisively. Rendered furious, he accuses Sachs of deceit in
that he gave him an abominable poem. Sachs declares the poem to be
quite good, but that it must be sung according to the proper melody.
It is now determined that whoever knows this melody shall be the
victor. The young nobleman sings it and secures the bride. The
admission into the guild however he declines. Thereupon Hans Sachs
humorously defends the mastersingers and closes with the rhyme:
"The Holy Roman Empire may depart,
Yet will remain our Holy German art."
A few years later the German empire arose to new glory and blessing,
and yet a lustrum, and with the rise of Baireuth, came the German art.